


I'll Make A Million Mistakes

by losingmymindtonight



Series: And You'll Blow Us All Away [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Recovery, Sequel, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, a ridiculous amount of sleepiness, a ridiculous amount of sleepy cuddles, specifically he's good with Peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-05-26 08:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14997332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingmymindtonight/pseuds/losingmymindtonight
Summary: Tony and Peter are home, they are safe, and all they want is a few breaths of peace.But one battle ends only for another to begin. And they may have escaped the Raft, but they cannot escape themselves.





	1. Love, You're Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Hey losers. Are you ready to do it all over again?  
> Yes? Good. Me too.  
> (Quick note: I’m just gonna clarify that this story is NOT going to be anti-Team Cap. However, there is a TON of tension right now. It would be unrealistic to believe that everyone would be best buddies after Civil War. It’s going to take time.  
> I also know that this chapter is a little hard on Sam, but he’ll warm up. It’s important to remember that he didn’t know Tony as well as the others before the Civil War, and he’s always been distrusting of him anyway. They’ll all grow with time, I promise.)  
> Here we go, guys!

“Hey Spider-baby.” Tony ruffled the kid’s hair as he stumbled into the kitchen. “Bacon?”

“Please.”

Peter hopped onto the barstool and it bobbled precariously, making Tony’s heart leap into his throat. He lunged half over the counter in order to grab fistfuls of his kid’s shirt and steady him.

The teenager grinned, a little sheepish. “Oops?”

“Give me a heart attack anytime, kid.” He let go of his shirt and smoothed out the wrinkles left behind. He could feel Peter’s chest rise and fall underneath his palm. _Breathing. Alive_. “Jesus.”

“I could’ve caught myself, y’know.”

“Sure you could’ve.” He piled a plate full of bacon and slid it over the counter. “What else do you want?”

“Can you make me a grilled cheese?”

He was moving to grab the cheese and butter even as he protested. “Not really breakfast food, champ.”

“It’s breakfast. And I’m eating it.” Peter grinned around a mouthful of bacon. “So it’s breakfast food.”

“Your logic is astounding. I remember why you have a 4.0 GPA, now.” He turned on the stove and greased a pan. “Are you excited for tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

Tony nearly rolled his eyes to the back of his head. This fucking kid. “Yes, tomorrow. Also known as: the day of your birth.”

“That’s got a nice ring to it.” Peter was loose and relaxed, chin resting in his hand as he slumped across the counter and, somehow, three bar stools. _Because that’s definitely how furniture was made to be used, kiddo._ “Happy Day of Your Birth! It’s catchy.”

He dropped the sandwich into the pan and tossed Peter a dish towel. “Wipe the grease off your face, little jokester.” He dodged to the left when the teenager threw the rag back at his face. “You’re gonna have to pick that up, y’know. Add it to your list of chores.”

“You don’t give me chores.”

“Now I do.”

“Rude.”

The billionaire smiled and flipped the sandwich. “Seriously, though. You excited?”

Peter kicked his legs off the stools and constricted inwards. “I guess.”

“Wow there, Pete. Don’t hold back that enthusiasm on my account.” He plopped the grilled cheese onto a plate and cut it with the spatula. Two triangles, like the kid preferred. “Seriously, buddy. What’s wrong? It’s your big sixteenth. Aren’t teenagers supposed to look forward to that kind of stuff?”

The teenager shrugged, taking the plate from Tony’s outstretched hand. “It’s dumb.”

“You say that a lot, but you’re rarely right.”

Peter picked up half of his sandwich and turned it around in his hands, stalling. “It’s just my first birthday without May, ‘s all.”

Oh. _Oh._ Tony was an idiot.

And a terrible father.

An idiotic, terrible, no good father without the tiniest ounce of emotional intelligence.

Yep, that was Tony Stark.

“Oh, Pete.” He dropped his elbows onto the counter and ducked to catch his kid’s gaze. “Hey. It’s okay to be sad about that.”

“You’re supposed to say she’d want me to be happy.”

“And she _would_.” He tapped the back of Peter’s hand, which was still slowly rotating the grilled cheese a few inches above the counter. “But if you’re not, if you _can’t_ be, then she’d understand that, too.”

Peter dropped his breakfast onto the plate with a tangy plop. There was a fledgling smile on his face. “You always know what to say. Uncle Ben did, too. Is it a dad thing?”

_IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIlove-_

“Yeah, squirt. We didn’t graduate top of our classes at Dad School for nothing, did we?” Peter giggled. _10 points to Tony._ “Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold. We’ve got a big day of doing absolutely nothing ahead of us.”

\--

They were in the middle of an episode of _Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader?_ when Steve called.

Steve _never_ called.

“Sorry, kiddo.” He grabbed his phone and went to stand. “Keep track of the answers for me.”

Peter nearly fell off the couch in his haste to mute the TV. “No, that’s fine. I mean, uh, you can answer it here. I don’t mind.”

There were undercurrents to Peter’s words. Meanings wrapped in syllables that Tony had learned to read better than he knew how to read himself. He heard _this_ undercurrent loud and clear, a riptide tearing right from between his kid’s lips.

_Don’tgodon’tgodon’tgo._

“Sure thing.” He flung an arm over Peter’s shoulders, hoping that the physical contact would quiet his tides, and answered the call. “Stark.”

“Hey, Tony. Are you busy?”

“It’s just me and Peter, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“He’s with you?”

“Yes.”

A heavy sigh crackled over the line. “Alright. Well, I was wondering if you could come to the Compound tonight.”

“Why?”

“We’re having a team briefing. There’s a lot to discuss, and you’re going to want to be there.”

“What are we discussing, exactly?”

“Things that I’d rather not disclose over an open line.” A pause. “It has to do with the transmission we received a few months ago.”

_(“Where is Doctor Banner?”_

_“Where is Thor?”_

_“What do you know about the being known as Thanos?”_

_He didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t know._

_But Ross didn’t care. He hurt Peter anyway_.)

Steve’s voice softened. Somehow, the soldier had sensed his friend’s anxiety through the call. A part of the billionaire resented the fact that, even after everything, they were still so in tune. Still so emotionally intimate. “Listen, Tony. I know that things are still a little tense between us, but I really think that-”

Tony cut him off. He wasn’t prepared for this conversation. He wasn’t sure he ever would be. “When’s the meeting?”

Steve recovered from the interruption well. “When can you get here?”

He checked his watch while Peter dropped his head onto his shoulder and looked up at him through dark eyelashes. Tony ran two fingers absently behind the kid’s ear and over his jawline while he talked. “I can be there around 5:00.”

“Then I’ll see you at 5:00.” Tony ignored the awkward beats of silence that followed, busying himself with pulling a loose threat from Peter’s t-shirt. Finally, Steve spoke. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Sure thing, Capsicle.”

He clicked off the call and tossed the phone onto a cushion with a shaky release of breath.

“So you’re, uh, going to the Compound? Today?”

Tony shifted his gaze back to Peter, and felt his thoughts realign. “Guess so. Fancy a trip upstate, kiddie?”

Joy lit up on the teenager’s face. “I can come?”

“‘Course you can come.” He ruffled his curls. “What would I do without my trusty sidekick?”

Peter grinned. “That’s a good question.”

 _Yeah,_ he thought, _a question I hope I never get an answer to._

\--

“We need to talk.”

“So you said.”

Steve’s eyes flickered to Peter. He started to sigh, then cut himself off. “I see you brought the kid. I was wondering if you would.” The soldier gave Peter a tight smile. “Hey there, Peter. It’s nice to see that Tony lets you out of the Tower every once in a while.”

Peter slid his shoulder behind his father’s back and scooted away from Steve. “Hi Mister, uh, Captain America Sir.”

Some of the tension in the soldier’s jaw loosened as he laughed. “It’s just Steve, kid.”

“Steve. Right. Yeah. Cool.”

Tony could feel Peter shaking against his side and set a mental reminder to mention Peter’s sudden shyness to their therapist. He clapped his hands, hoping to divert the conversation away from the kid.

“Well, glad we had this little chat. Where’s the big meeting, Cap?”

Steve jerked his chin to the right. “Meeting room. C’mon. Everyone else is already here.”

Tony couldn’t help the sarcastic murmur. “Of course they are.”

When the reached the door, Steve pointed to a few couches scattered the communal living space. “We shouldn’t be long, Peter. Make yourself at home.”

The soldier’s meaning took a minute to settle against Tony’s perception, and then he jolted. “Sorry, Cap,” he tightened his hold on Peter’s sleeve, “the kid stays with me.”

“Your choice, Tony.” Steve’s gaze darted between the pair, and the billionaire had to swallow back a growl. _It’s just Steve. Steve won’t hurt Peter. He won’t._ “He listens in on this and he’s in the fight for good. Or, you let him sit outside for a few minutes and he gets to stay a kid for a little while longer.”

Tony felt torn apart. Windblown and storm scattered. He’d barely been without Peter since the Raft. They spent every moment, waking and un-waking, together. Every single one of his _I_ ’s had become _we_ ’s. Tony and Peter. Peter and Tony.

Him and his kid.

But… he didn’t want Peter to be a part of this fight. He knew that his involvement might end up being inevitable, _unavoidable_ , but he was going to do everything in his power to keep him as far away from it as he could.

There was a time when he would have risked _anything_ for the greater good, but not anymore. He wouldn’t risk Peter. That was a price he would never be willing to pay. A sacrifice he would never be content with offering.

He’d watch the universe burn to the ground if that’s what it took to keep his child safe.

“Alright.” The decision made his throat twist, but he knew it was right. He knew it was necessary. “Go sit, Pete. I’ll be out as quick as I can be, okay?”

The panic that swelled against his kid’s pupils made guilt, frigid and heavy, settle in his stomach. “Don’t I get a say?”

“Nope.” He meant to sound cocky and reassuring, but the word came out a little breathless. _I’m just as scared as you, buddy._ “No say for Spider-babies. Wait until you’re a Spider-adult, then we’ll talk.”

“Dad,” Peter’s voice was barely a whisper, nervous gaze shifting to Steve before settling back on Tony, “please? I-I don’t want you to go.”

“Go?” He smoothed a curl back against Peter’s temple. “Who said anything about going, huh? I’ll just be right in there.” He jerked his head towards the conference room. “Not going anywhere.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, kiddie, I know.” _I hate this. I hate this. I hate this._ “But you’ll be fine. I’ll be back before you know I’m gone, okay?”

Peter scrunched up his face. “O-okay.”

 _Good boy._ “Look at my Spider-baby.” Peter winced as Tony pinched his cheeks, cooing softly as if he was a toddler. “They grow up so fast.”

“Shut up.”

He snickered, reaching down to untwist the string on Peter’s hoodie. He knew he was stalling. Frankly, he wasn’t sure if it was for the kid’s sake or his own. He wasn’t even sure if those two things were all that separate, anymore.

He steeled himself. _Stark men are made of iron._

“See ya in a bit, bud. Be good. Ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. if you need anything.”

“M’kay.”

It took every ounce of his resolve to leave Peter standing there, practically swimming in his oversized hoodie and curls hanging in his face, but he did it.

_I’m sorry, kid, but this is me protecting you. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it is._

_And I have to protect you. It’s the only thing I understand anymore._

They slid into the meeting room, and Tony was struck by an intense rush of déjà vu. Everyone was scattered around the table, feet propped up and postures set in carefully groomed passivity. If he ignored the almost audible tick of a metaphorical time bomb, he could pretend that it was _before_.

Steve glanced at the closed door before returning his gaze to Tony. He dropped his voice to a level that wouldn’t be overheard by the congregated team. “He’s grown dangerously codependent. You do know that, right?”

He shot the solider a look that dripped with acid, not bothering to keep his words at a whisper. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that how I handle my kid was your business.”

Steve raised his hands in surrender. “I don’t want to fight, Tony. I was just mentioning it.”

“Well, mention it less.” He snapped, then deflated. God, he’d been spending so much time with Peter that he forgot how hard emotional shit was with anyone other than him. “I know, Cap. Believe me, I _know_.”

_I know because I’m the same way. I know because I don’t think I can function without him, and I know that he can’t function without me, and I don’t know how to fix it._

_Somedays, I don’t know if I want to._

Steve studied him for a second, mouth slightly opened as if he was waiting for the right words to crawl into his mouth. Before he could find them, however, another voice interrupted.

“If you two lovebirds are finished?” Both men whipped around to look at Clint, who was sprawled across his chair someone had just tossed him there. “Don’t we have, like, world-ending bullshit to discuss?”

Steve shifted from concerned friend to seasoned Captain in a heartbeat. “And more. So, we’d better get started.”

Tony tossed his suit jacket over the back of a conference chair and dropped into it with an air of casual confidence. _Pouritonpouritonpouriton. Shield. Deflect. Convince them._ “Actually, I have a question.” He gestured around the room, eyes narrowing as he noticed something off. “Where’s Vis and Wanda?’

“They left.”

“They _left_?” Tony didn’t even try to hide his incredulousness. “They just… left? And you _let_ them?”

Steve ran a tired hand over his face. “Wanda was pardoned, Tony. She can do what she wants. And Vision is sentient enough to make his own choices.”

“Why wasn’t I told?”

Sam snorted. “Guess you were too busy swaddling your kid in bubble wrap to notice.”

He whipped his chair around to face him, fire in his throat. “Do you have a problem with Peter?”

“Enough.” Cap sent a warning look to Sam. “We’re not here to talk about any of this. We’re here to talk about Thanos.”

Across the room, shoulders tensed and jaws tightened. Somehow, that single name had managed to fill the entire space with shuddering anticipation.

“First, we need to focus on what we know.” Steve rolled his shoulders. “We know that we received a transmission from Banner and Thor about two months ago. The only thing it said was that someone called Thanos was working to collect a series of objects known as the Infinity Stones. Apparently, there are six of them, and they’re more powerful than anything we could ever imagine. He’s also looking for some kind of vessel that will allow him to wield them. Thor mentioned something about a gauntlet. Besides that, he just told us to be ready.” The soldier swept his gaze across the room. “That’s all we’ve got. We don’t know his plan. We don’t know his motivations. We don’t even know what the Infinity Stones are capable of, or how they work. What we _do_ know is that something’s coming, something _big_ , and it’s the Avengers’ job to be ready for it.”

_I told you. They were always going to come. We’re too loud. We’re too inviting. It was only a matter of time._

“Tony,” Steve’s voice lost its edge, “did Ross say anything more than we already knew?”

He swallowed. White walls. Black eyes. Red blood. “No.”

“Not to you, at least,” Sam crossed his arms, “but what about to the kid?”

“ _Peter?_ ” Tony smothered a scoff. “Peter doesn’t know anything.”

“You sure about that? You’ve asked him?”

“Well, no, but-”

“So you don’t actually know.”

Certainty filled his chest. _I was right to take him away. I was right to hide him in the Tower. He’s a blip in their expectations. They’re wary of him. Even worse, they’re curious._ “What are you implying?”

“Nothing. I’m just suggesting that we might want to use all our resources.”

“Except Stark’s kid isn’t a resource,” Tony’s gaze snapped over to meet Clint’s as the archer straightened in his seat, “he’s a _child_. A child who went through one hell of a fucked-up experience. One that you and I can relate to, Sam. Leave him be.”

“Clint’s right.” Steve set his palms against the table and pressed down. “It’s unlikely that Ross would have revealed anything important to Peter. We leave him out of this.”

_For now. But for how long? If this is it, how can I protect him?_

“As it is, all we can do is prepare for the worst.” Natasha’s voice was as smooth as ever, no hint of fear or strain in the inflection. “So we train. We prepare. We put our differences behind us and we look forward. We act like the adults that we are.” A smirk curled her lips. It was an invitation to defy her. Or, at least, it was an invitation to try. “Are we all in agreement, boys?”

The room was filled with muttered affirmations and erratic, reluctant nods.

_Can we make a team out of this? Is it salvageable?_

_Are_ we _salvageable?_

“And just because we’re preparing for a threat that’s coming doesn’t mean we can start ignoring the ones that are sitting on our doorstep.” Steve pushed away from the table and crossed his arms. “That’s the other reason for this meeting. We’ve gotten word from one of Fury’s sources that a new Hydra cell has cropped up in Yukon, Canada, somewhere in the Kluane National Park and Reserve. Apparently, there’s intel that suggests that they’re creating a superweapon.”

“A superweapon?” Tony couldn’t help the snicker. “Like the Death Star?”

“That’s a Star Trek reference, right?”

“Close, Capsicle. Star Wars, Episode IV and VI.” At the team’s indignant stares, he rushed to explain himself. “They’re Peter’s favorite movies, okay? We watch them a lot.”

“Oh my god.” Sam whispered. “Who are you and what have you done with Tony Stark?”

He clenched his fists but stayed silent.

“The point is,” Steve looked exhausted, and Tony felt a brief pang of sympathy for him, “that Hydra is up to something, and it’s our job to stop it. Fury’s contact is going to work on digging up some more information. Once we have that intel, we go in.”

_Go in. As in, leave. As in, leave Peter behind. As in, leave Peter all alone._

“All of us?”

Steve’s gaze rested on Tony for a moment. There was an apology in his eyes. “This is Hydra. You know what they’re like. You know what they can do. It might take all of us to finish this one.” He shifted uncomfortably, a brief flash of the man behind the soldier. “And no one understands weapons like you, Tony. You might be the only one who can shut this thing down, once we find it.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Steve was right. There was nobody else in the world who understood weapons like Tony Stark did. He’d dedicated dozens of years to studying every facet of warfare. If it came down to disabling something dangerous, he was the best qualified to do it. It made sense that he would go. It was the logical choice.

But his need to protect Peter didn’t give two shits about logic.

“We’ll have a more in-depth briefing before we deploy, whenever that may be.” Steve seemed to catch everyone’s gaze all at once. There was a collective suspension of breath. “Until then, we need to focus on the team. If we’ll be working together, both during this mission and in the future, we have to be a cohesive unit. Past differences need to be set aside, for the good of the team and everyone else. Anybody have any objections to that?”

The words rang, bitter and unwanted, in Tony’s ears. But, either way, he knew that Steve had a point.

Again.

_Damn it._

And, apparently, everybody else knew it too. Not a single mouth twitched to dispute the statement, and a sliver of the tension seemed to slip out of Steve’s shoulders.

“Good.” The soldier gave a quick, precise nod. His eyes had the look of a man who wanted to run. Tony wouldn’t have noticed it if he didn’t see the same exhaustion staring back at him every time he looked in the mirror. “We’re going to implement team training days. We’ll work on our in-battle cooperation, try to rediscover our rhythm. Until then, keep working on your own.” A pause. A swallow. A visual reevaluation of the gathered heroes. “That’s all.”

The team took the words as a dismissal, and chairs squeaked as everyone rushed to stand. Tony stood beside the doorway and caught Clint’s arm as the man moved to leave, tugging him away from the stream of people for a moment of relative privacy.

“Hey,” Tony swallowed, “thanks for that. For speaking up for my kid, I mean. I just… I don’t forget shit like that, alright?”

_Eloquent, Stark. Peter’s stuttering is rubbing off on you._

“Don’t get the wrong impression. I’m still pissed as hell.” The archer’s entire face softened. “But I’m a dad too. I know what it’s like when someone tries to fuck with your kids. Sam was out of line.”

“Yeah, well,” he just wanted Peter, “thanks.”

“Sure.” Clint waved a hand towards the door. “Now go to your kid. I could see you twitching for the entire meeting. I almost asked Cap if we could strap you down.”

He laughed, and some of the awkwardness seemed to release. “I hate when I can’t have eyes on him.”

“That’s the parental spirit. Just so you know, it never goes away.” He slapped his arm. “Later, Stark. Try not to fuck him up too badly.”

Tony watched the man’s retreating form with a grimace.

_I’m trying. I’m really, really trying._

\--

Peter practically crashed into him when he stepped out of the room, a mass of half-panicked super-teen.

Tony laughed as he shoved his face into his parent’s collarbone, ignoring Natasha and Steve’s stares. He had his kid, so nothing else mattered. “Hey, buddy. Rough, uh,” he checked his watch, “wow, yeah, a rough twenty minutes, huh?”

“Yeah.”

He ran his fingers through Peter’s hair. _He’s okay. He’s fine. He’s good. Everything’s good._ “McDonald’s and then Monopoly?”

The teenager pulled back a little. “D’you think Pepper will play?”

“Do you _want_ to lose?”

“But it’s funny to watch _you_ lose.”

“You’re a terror.”

Peter blinked up at him with imploring eyes. “But I’m _your_ terror, right?”

“That you are.” He ran a thumb along the nap of the kid’s neck. “You wanna team up against Pepper?”

“We’ll still lose.”

“And yet we’ll lose with honor.”

Peter let out a rattling breath, shoulders slumping as he dropped his head back against his father’s chest. Tony just ran his hand up and down his spine in a comforting rhythm, letting his fingers linger in the kid’s hair before continuing the pattern.

“It’s all good, bud. I’m back, and you’ve got me for as long as you want now.” He shot a sideways look at Steve and Natasha, who were shamelessly watching the pair. Yep. Time to get the hell out of Dodge. “Ready to head on home, kiddo?”

“Yes, please.”

He tucked Peter under his arm, intending to guide him straight out the door without even the briefest backwards glance, when Natasha’s voice stopped him.

“Tony.”

“Natasha.”

She walked in front of them and caught Peter’s eye. Whenever he tried to dart his gaze away, she intensified the contact and held it. “You need training.”

Peter’s voice is small. “I have training.”

“Not enough.” She cocked a hip and surveyed the kid’s form before looking back to Tony. “Bring him here on Monday. I’ll teach him.”

He bristled at the order. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do I not have a say in this?”

Natasha shrugged, already turning to leave. “I can teach him how to keep himself alive. If you don’t want him to have those skills, feel free to lock him up in the Tower and hope for the best. Otherwise, let me help you help him.” She shot a parting smile at Peter. The kid shrunk back like she was going to eat him alive. “See you on Monday, little spider.”

Tony watched her go with a strange feeling in his stomach. He realized that it was dread.

 _Something’s coming_ , he thinks, _something’s coming and it’s going to mow us down like a million blades of grass._


	2. My Definition of Perfect Was Written When You Were Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once, Tony felt perfectly content. He was warm, he was comfortable, and he could feel every one of Peter’s breaths rising and falling against his ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, and sorry for any typos! I only edited this once, but I wanted to get it up so that it could finally be done. As always, you guys are the best. Thank you for all your reviews and kudos. I promise that the rest of the chapters will be more satisfying!

Tony woke up to sunshine on his face and the weight of Peter curled into his side.

So, basically, Tony woke up exactly the way he liked.

They’d left the curtains open the night before, because Peter found the twinkling skyline soothing, which meant that the room was illuminated by the morning light. It spilled through the huge windows like tumbleweeds, and made everything seem a little more gentle. A little more forgiving.

For once, Tony felt perfectly content. He was warm, he was comfortable, and he could feel every one of Peter’s breaths rising and falling against his ribs. He shifted a little so that he could look down at his kid’s face, and felt a swoop of fondness in his stomach at the sight. The teenager’s curls were always at their most vibrant in the morning, all kinky and haphazardly scattered over his forehead. Tony ran his fingers through them gently, separating the strands and smiling as Peter unconsciously snuggled into the touch.

_Sixteen years ago today, I was off doing god-knows-what, completely oblivious to my entire future aligning around this kid._

He wondered what trajectory his path might have taken if he hadn’t made that desperate decision to go to Queens when Steve went rogue. Were he and Peter always meant to collide, or had this exact moment pivoted on that one choice? In a way, the thought made him grateful for the Avengers splintering.

He wouldn’t change it, not if it meant losing Peter. He’d rewrite history if it meant that the two of them still ended up here, curled away in their little pocket of home, breathing in sync and wrapped up in light.

He checked his watch and sighed, bringing himself back to the present. He’d love to let the kid sleep as late as he wanted on his birthday, but he also knew that his enhanced metabolism would have other ideas. It was 9:00 am, which meant that it had already been over twelve hours since Peter’s last meal. He’d make himself sick if he didn’t eat something soon.

Tony had formed a routine to waking Peter up. They’d realized early on that the last thing Tony wanted to do was startle the kid out of sleep. Their first encounter with an alarm set by F.R.I.D.A.Y. ended in a panic attack that took nearly an hour to dispel. Ever since, they’d learned that the quieter and slower the mornings, the better.

He brushed a thumb over the kid’s cheekbone. “Peter?” He pulled the teenager closer as he shifted and brushed his lips against his forehead in greeting. “Hey, buddy. It’s morning.”

The kid creased his forehead and pushed his face into Tony’s neck, eyes scrunching up and body curling into the man’s warmth. Tony let out a little laugh. “C’mon, kid. Up and at ‘em.”

Soft brown eyes opened to slits, and then reclosed. “Dad?”

“Morning, Pete.” He smoothed his fingers through the teenager’s curls, tilting his face a little more towards the sunlight in the process. “Happy Birthday.”

The kid grinned, still half-asleep. “Oh?”

“Oh indeed.” He set a hand against Peter’s collarbone, massaging at his shoulder. He knew that his old injury acted up the most in the mornings. “A whole sixteen years old. How’s it feel to be ancient, kid?”

He felt Peter’s knees bump against his as he stretched, yawning and blinking lazily. “Like I want waffles.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He closed his eyes and settled himself in the moment. He was doing that a lot, recently. Just trying to memorize snapshots. “I’ll give you some time to get conscious, and then we’ll make some together.”

“Mm. Sounds perfect.”

“Didn’t know waffles meant so much to you.”

“Not waffles.” Peter curled his arm tighter around Tony’s ribs. “Together.”

The sleepy mumble brought a wave of adoration, and he let it sweep over him. “Alright, kid. Get too much more sentimental on me and I might cry.”

“Oh _no._ ” The teenager’s tone was mocking. “Can’t have that.”

“Damn right, we can’t.”

\--

When Peter was a little kid, he used to be afraid of creaks in his apartment’s hallways. Whenever he heard one, he’d lunge under his covers and hold them over his head. Breathe slow, breathe shallow. He knew the unspoken rules. If the creak can’t hear you, the creak can’t find you and the creak can’t hurt you.

The blankets had made him feel safe. As long as he was under them, nothing could touch him. Nothing could hurt him.

Once, he’d been in such a rush to get into bed that he’d torn the blankets off and sent them sliding across the floor. He could still remember the paralyzing terror that had settled in his veins. He’d felt bare. He’d felt _exposed._

Life after the Raft felt a lot like that: full of uncertainty, like he was a worm that had been dug up and left to bake in the sun. He’d learned with a terrifying certainty that the blankets wouldn’t keep him safe anymore. He’d outgrown their protection. His monsters were too big, too scary, too _real_ for them now.

He’d also realized that he’d _never_ been safe under his blankets. He had just been masking the fear. The comfort was impermanent. An illusion.

He needed something better, something tangible. Something that he knew, with undying certainty, would frighten the monsters back to the dark.

And that was Tony.

He knew that everyone was worried about him. He wasn’t stupid. He’d heard the hushed conversations between Pepper and Tony when they thought he was asleep. He’d noticed the obvious looks Rhodey kept shooting the billionaire when Peter clung to his sleeve. He’d seen the pitying look in Steve’s eyes at the Compound. The worst part wasn’t that, though. The worst part was that they thought he was oblivious, which he _wasn’t_. He _knew_ that his dependency on Tony was abnormal.

But he couldn’t turn it off, and he didn’t see why he should have to. When May died, his entire world had been turned on its head. And then, just as he was starting to push it back into place, the Raft had _shattered_ it. He didn’t understand anything, anymore. The world didn’t make sense. His own _head_ didn’t make sense.

And the only thing that was a constant, the only thing that never changed or wavered, was Tony.

So Peter clung to him. He clung to him like he was the only piece of home he’d ever known.

After everything, he felt as though he was entitled to a little bit of security. A little patch of ground that wouldn’t shift under his feet.

So, yeah, he was sixteen and sleeping in his parent’s bed. It didn’t _matter,_ not really. And he could tell that the man found it just as comforting as he did, so it was _fine_. Peter was fine, Tony was fine, everything was _fine._

And today was his birthday, which meant that he was going to doze on his dad, help him make waffles, and be just as clingy as he pleased.

“C’mon, Pete,” Tony jostled him gently, and Peter peeled open his gritty eyes, “waffles, remember?”

He weighed the hunger in his stomach against the comfort of the pillows. “I _am_ hungry.”

The older man chuckled a little as he tossed the comforter towards the foot of the bed and sat, forcing Peter upright with him. “You’re always hungry, Spider-baby. It feels like you’re eating every two hours.”

He let Tony stand first, then followed. The carpet was soft under his feet as they moved into the hallway. “You’re the one who insists I eat that often, to be fair.”

“Because you _need_ to eat that often. Comes with the territory of being a freaky spider-kid, apparently.”

They didn’t turn on any of the lights in the living room or kitchen. The morning sun was more than enough, and both of them preferred natural lighting. Sometimes, Peter stared at a lamp that was just a little too bright and all he could remember was the artificial glare of fluorescents on pure white walls.

“If a bottomless stomach is the worst side effect,” Peter hopped onto the kitchen counter, “then I’ll take it.”

“Me too, kiddo.” Tony paused in front of a shelf. “So, I had a thought.”

Peter fake gasped. “No way.”

“I’ll let that one go because it’s your birthday.” He glared, but there was no substance behind it. Only a flicker of fondness. “I’m trying to have a moment with you here, Pete.”

“Right, sorry, I’m serious. Totally serious. This is the most serious I’ve ever been, actually.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Sure, kid. I thought that we could, uh, well,” Tony’s gaze fell to the floor, and Peter recognized it as sign of the man pushing through an emotional moment. Curiosity bloomed in his chest, “I thought that maybe we could make the waffles my mom used to make for me.”

Oh, his mom. Tony talking about his mom was a big deal. Peter kicked his feet as he thought about his response. “Did she make special waffles?”

“You bet, kiddo.” He set a slightly shaky hand on the spine of a worn-down binder on the top shelf. “What do you say?”

Peter didn’t need to know the specifics to could see that this was a big moment for Tony. So, he gave him the sweetest grin he could muster and nodded. “Sounds great, Dad.”

The smile and the purposeful use of _Dad_ definitely worked, because Tony’s body language relaxed and he seemed a little less on edge as he pulled the binder down. “Glad to hear it, squirt.”

Peter was tasked with stirring the ingredients together while Tony preheated and oiled the waffle iron. They were just about ready to _actually_ make the waffles when Tony pulled the bowl out of his hands and set it aside, cupping the bottom of his chin gently. “How’s your shoulder today? Saw you wincing a second ago.”

“It’s fine.”

“Cute. You know how I love it when you lie to me.” He brushed a thumb against his hairline. “C’mon, buddy. Let’s not fight. Just tell me.”

Peter rolled his eyes but did take the time to survey the almost constant ache. “It’s okay. Pretty normal.”

“Not bad?”

“No, not bad.”

Tony paused for a moment, searching his eyes for any hint of discomfort. Despite the scrutiny, Peter relaxed into the gaze.

Finally, his father released him and stepped away. “Alright.” He pulled up the lid of the waffle iron and gestured to the bowl. “You scoop ‘em in, and I’ll do the rest. Don’t burn yourself.”

_So overprotective._ “Don’t worry. I think I can probably do it without hurting myself.”

“Oh, can you?” Tony feigned innocence. “Past experience doesn’t back you up.”

“That was _one time_. And it’s not like I meant to hit my hand on the oven rack.”

“I swear you did it just to shorten your old man’s lifespan.”

Peter glared, sticking a finger in the bowl and licking the batter off. Tony slapped at his hand in exasperation.

“Hey, don’t eat that raw. You’ll make yourself sick.”

But laughed, but didn’t protest.

They made the first round of waffles in companionable silence after that, and Peter could taste the routine. Every breath felt content and in sync, like his life was finally realigning. He could see patterns, consistency, and each one of those certainties revolved around the man piling a plate full of golden-brown waffles just a heartbeat away.

_To find constellations, you need a North Star. And maybe Tony can be mine._

\--

Once they’d finished their breakfast of chocolate chip waffles (topped with copious amounts of sprinkles), leftover Chinese food, and hot chocolate, Tony slung an arm over his shoulders and started pulling him towards their bedroom.

“Alright, kid,” the lights flickered on automatically as they entered the hallway, “presents.”

Peter jolted in surprise. “I told you I didn’t want anything.”

“And I ignored you, just like I always will.”

“But I really don’t need anything.” His mind flashed back to Christmas, and the same shy gratitude filled his mouth. “I’ve got everything I want already. I-I’ve got you.”

“Always.” Tony gave his shoulder a quick rub. That was all that needed to be said. “But I enjoy pampering you, so shut up and let me.”

They sat on the floor of the bedroom, and Tony pulled a series of carefully wrapped presents out of the closet (now filled with both Tony _and_ Peter’s clothes) and pushed them across the floor until they were piled up by the bed. Tony sat next to them, leaning against the mattress, and tossed Peter a small box.

“That’s from me.”

He pulled the lid off and stared, dumbstruck, at the key fob inside.

“You bought me a _car?_ ”

“You’re 16. You can get your license now.” Tony shrugged. “You don’t have to, obviously. But it’s there if you want it.”

“That’s-I-you- _wow_.”

Peter was still staring at the box when a stack of three presents bumped into his knee. “From Pepper.”

He jerked, then set the key fob aside. “No, wait. I haven’t hugged you yet.”

Tony uncrossed his legs with a smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is that important?”

“ _Yes._ ”

He opened his arms in anticipation. “C’mon then, kid. I’m waiting.”

Peter flung himself into Tony’s chest, purposefully making the impact harder than necessary. The older man let out an exaggerated huff of breath but wrapped the teenager up in his arms like he was meant to be there. Peter smiled into his father’s neck as he set a light hand on the back of his head.

He pulled away and grinned. Tony brushed a few curls away from his face, fingers lingering on his temple, before shaking his head and giving Peter’s good shoulder a little push. “Alright, squirt. Off you go. Open Pep’s presents.”

Peter scooted over to the stack of boxes Tony had pushed to him earlier. “These are hers?”

“Yep.”

The matte, obviously high-end wrapping paper fell away and Peter laughed at what was underneath.

_Puzzles._

The first one was a sunset, which Peter liked the colors of quite a lot. They seemed soothing. The second was a galaxy scene. A little blurb on the box said it was an actual image taken by the Hubble Telescope.

And the third one was…

“Is this _us_?”

“Got it in one, kid. Iron Man and Spider-Man. Should’ve seen how excited Pep was when she found it.”

“This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“If that’s actually true, then I’m a little offended.”

Opening the rest of the presents went by quickly. Ned had gotten him a couple comic books and written him a card so heartfelt that it almost made Peter cry. Rhodey’s gift was a constellation journal, as well as a set of engraved pens to go with it. Happy gave him a Stark Industries t-shirt, much to Tony’s amusement.

As the presents dwindled, Tony seemed to tense. Finally, he picked up the second to last box, shifting it between his palms anxiously, before pressing it into Peter’s hands. “This is from Cap. He asked me to give it to you.”

Peter stared at the parcel, finally understanding Tony’s hesitation. It was wrapped in basic brown paper, a massively different sight than the colorful wrappings that had covered all his other gifts. It was small, too, fitting comfortably in his hand.

He pulled the paper apart carefully. The simple jewelry box underneath didn’t reveal any hints to what it contained, so Peter popped it open and spilled the contents into his outstretched palm.

There was a compass, and a note. He picked out the note first, rolling the metal compass around in his hand as he read.

_Peter,_

_I know these may not be as common nowadays as they were in my time, but I believe that it’s always important to know where you stand. I hope that this helps you orient yourself and, if you ever get lost, I hope it helps point you back home._

_I know that for you, home means Tony. I’m glad you’ve found that in each other. He’s been drifting for a long time. I can’t tell you how good it is to see him happy._

_We all need family, Peter, and Tony is yours. Never throw that away. There’ll be times when you butt heads, but that just makes you human. Don’t let it break you apart._

_I said this to your father, once, and I’m going to say it again to you. If you need me, I’ll be there. All you have to do is call._

_Happy Birthday, son._

_Steven Grant Rogers_

Peter dropped the letter into his lap and ran both thumbs over the top of the compass. He popped the lid and spun it lazily in his palm, watching the needle bop and whirl.

( _I hope it helps point you back home._ )

He twisted it until the needle was aimed at Tony, and grinned.

_Guess it works._

“He give you a relic from the war, or something?” Tony leaned over to survey the worn device. “Wow. Cap really knows how to pick a gift, huh?”

Peter ran a finger along the edge of the face. He felt secure with it in his hand, almost as if his spidey sense had connected with it. “I like it.”

Tony’s expression softened. “Then I’ll have to thank him.”

“Yeah. I’ll, uh, I’ll definitely do that next time we’re at the Compound.” Peter spent another few moments staring at the compass before looking back at Tony, slipping the device into his pocket. “Uh, there’s one more, right?”

The man smiled. “Yeah. It’s from me, actually.”

“You already got me a _car_. What else could I possibly need?”

“It’s not something you need, per say. And it’s a bit of a present for me, too, if I’m being honest.” He picked up the last gift and nodded to the bed. “Come on. We’ll do this one up there.”

Peter followed, bouncing onto the mattress and curling up in his usual spot at the head of the huge bed. Tony settled next to him and placed the package on his lap, urging him to open it with a light bump of their shoulders.

He unwrapped this gift with the same care he had given Cap’s. The fact that Tony saved this one for the end meant it was special. The last bit of wrapping fell away and he found himself staring at a leather-bound photo album.

Tony pushed the discarded paper onto the floor without a second glance. “Open it.”

The first few photos were black and white. One instantly caught Peter’s attention, and his finger hovered over it uncertainly.

“That’s Steve, Peggy Carter, and my father, during the war.” Tony murmured. “It was one of his favorites. I know you’re a big Cap fanboy, so I thought might like it.”

Peter set his fingertip on Howard’s chest. “He’s my grandfather now, I guess.”

“Maybe not biologically, but… yes.” Tony sighed. “If he was still alive, I’d probably keep you as far away from him as possible but, well, he’s dead, so there’s not point to any of that now.” Tony gripped his wrist and slid his hand to the second page. “That’s my mother, when she was about your age. And that’s a picture of my parents on their wedding day.” Peter noticed that Tony’s hand fingers lingered over his mother’s face. He looked thoughtful, and sad. He recognized the look in his eyes. It was the same way Peter felt when he thought about May. “Anyway, I thought you might like to learn a little bit of the history behind the Stark name, now that you have it.”

“I love it. Thank you.”

“That’s not it, kid. Turn the page.”

Peter did, and smiled brightly once he recognized what he was looking at. “Are these pictures of _you_?”

“Unfortunately.” He winced. “Rhodey picked them. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Peter giggled at some of the baby pictures before turning his attention to one image in particular that caught his eye. “Is that you and Mister Rhodes?”

The pair were sitting on a dorm bed, both sporting MIT sweatshirts, obviously oblivious to the fact that their picture was being taken. Tony was smiling brightly at Rhodey while the older boy laughed at something he’d just said. It made Peter realize, rather suddenly, just how long the two men had known each other.

“It is.” Tony smiled at the memory. “I think he only kept me around for the amusement factor.”

“I doubt it.”

Tony shrugged, and reached out to flip the page again. “It’s not just me, y’know.”

Peter’s heart stuttered. “Are those my…?”

“Your parents.” Tony’s voice was soft, and Peter felt his hand settle on the back of his neck. Steady comfort, unwavering and secure. “Did some digging. Not everything I found made it into the book, but I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. save it all in an archive for you. Just ask her for it, someday.”

“I’ve only seen a few pictures of them, all from my Aunt and Uncle’s wedding.” Peter stared, trying to drink in their faces. “All of our family pictures were confiscated by SHIELD when they died.”

“I know.” Tony bit his lip. “And about that… all of SHIELD’s digital databases were leaked when the Hydra fiasco went down, but the physical archives were relatively untouched. I went to Maria Hill, told her about you. She pulled some strings.” He tapped the corner of the page. “Flip it over, kid.”

The next few pages were filled with pictures of… him. And not _just_ him, either. There were pictures of his dad holding his arms, trying to teach him how to walk. There was a photo of him curled on his mom’s lap, a book titled _Astrophysics for Babies_ gripped in his chubby little hands. There were even pictures of his grandparents holding him on the day he was born.

_16 years ago today,_ he thought, feeling a weird sense of nostalgia, _those pictures were taken 16 years ago today._

One of the pictures in particular made hot tears spring into his eyes. A much younger version of his Aunt sat on a couch with a much younger version of Peter plopped on her lap. He was reaching for her glasses, and she laughed, smiling down at the toddler with a look of pure adoration.

“I thought you’d like that one.” Tony leaned into him. “I think I might have a copy framed. It’s a good one, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yeah.”

The rest of the book was filled with a similar array of photos. Peter with May at once of his science fairs. Peter with Ned at Coney Island. Peter with Ben at Epcot. The last three pages were filled with photos of Peter and Tony. There was even a photo of Peter and Happy stuffed in their midst. There was also a copy of the adoption certificate, tucked in beside a picture Rhodey had taken on the day they finalized the paperwork. Peter was curled underneath Tony’s arm as the two stared at the completed documents with matching looks of satisfaction.

“You’ve got a lot of people in your corner, kiddo.” Peter dropped his head back onto his father’s shoulder. “We’re all here for you, in some way or another.” A hand settled in Peter’s curls, and he smiled softly at the contact. “The rest of the book is blank. We’ll add more as we go. One day, you can give it to your kids.”

He closed the book and ran his fingers over the gold engraving on the outside. _Parker-Stark._ “I can’t even imagine having kids.”

Tony laughed. “I couldn’t, either. Best thing I ever did, though.”

“More like the most troublesome.”

Another laugh. “That, too.”

Peter closed his eyes, and Tony jostled him up. “No naps, Spider-baby. We’ve got more activities planned where that came from. Up, come on.”

He let himself be pulled to his feet, setting the photo album on the bedside table. “But it’s _my_ birthday.”

“There’ll be plenty of opportunities for naptime later, kiddo.” He nodded toward the constellation journal. “Grab that. We’re bringing it with us.”

He resisted the urge to complain about the naptime comment as Tony dragged him towards the elevator. “Where are we going?”

“The garage.”

“Why?”

“Cause we’re going on a drive.”

“To where?”

“A place.”

“What kind of place?”

“A surprise place.”

Peter groaned. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Nope.”

The elevator hummed as it flew down past floor after floor. “Will you give me a hint?”

Tony stared at him for a second before glancing at the journal in his hands. “You’re holding your hint.”

Before Peter could spend too much time thinking about what a constellation journal had to do with taking a drive, the elevator doors slid open and Tony was pulling him through the garage. He let go of him in front of… a black pickup truck?

_Tony owns a pickup truck?_

“C’mon, kid. Get in.”

Peter just stared. “Is that… a truck?”

“Yeah?” Tony gave him a purposefully incredulous look. “So?”

“Why do we, uh, need a pickup truck?”

Peter could see Tony trying to hide a smirk behind the driver’s side door. “Am I not allowed to own a pickup truck?”

He rolled his eyes and tried to peek into the bed, curiosity coiling in his chest. “You have a lot of stuff back here. What is it all f-”

“Get in the truck, Peter.”

“That sounds like stranger danger.” Peter grinned, and watched Tony bite back a bark of laughter at the stupidity of the joke. “Should I scream?”

“No one’ll hear you, Pete. We’re the only ones here and the garage is soundproofed.”

“This is sounding more and more like you’re going to murder me and dump my body in a ditch by the second, Dad.”

“Like I’d dump your body in a ditch,” he shot Peter a wink, “I have far more effective ways to dispose of the evidence, kiddo.”

“That might be the most ominous thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Didn’t know I’d be getting a superlative today.” Tony pointed at him in a mockingly stern manner. “Now get in, Spider-baby, _or else_.”

This time, Peter actually did as he was told, snickering all the while. “You’re scary today.”

“I’m scary every day.”

Peter’s next breath tripped on a laugh. The idea of Tony actually frightening Peter was too hilarious to even entertain. “You are the least scary person I have _ever_ met.”

Tony just shot him a glare and turned up the radio to block out his laughter.

\--

Tony hadn’t even comprehended how much Peter’s music taste had leaked into his own until they were an hour into their drive and it occurred to him that he’d been able to hum along to _every single song_.

Including at least one thing by Taylor Swift, which he would vehemently deny to _anyone_ , and at least three different covers of Coldplay’s Viva La Vida.

It was worth it, though, to listen to Peter singing along softly in the passenger’s seat.

It had been hard, since the Raft. The kid always seemed two steps away from panic or paranoia. Tony had learned to be grateful for drives like these, where Ross’ ghost disappeared and all they cared to stress over was the stop-and-go traffic up ahead.

They were only about an hour out from their destination when Peter kicked off his shoes and curled up on the seat facing him, yawning widely. After a few seconds, he flailed a clumsy hand out and hooked his fingers into Tony’s beltloop, head dropping forward as he dozed off.

He ended up doing the rest of the driving one-handed, since the other was too occupied brushing through his kid’s messy curls. The only time he pulled away was the lower the radio into a background buzz.

He silently cursed their final turn, which took them onto a bumpy dirt road. He drove as carefully as he could, but every once in a while he’d have to cushion the kid’s head through a harsh bump.

Peter slept through it all, not seeming even the tiniest bit bothered. How that kid managed to sleep like the dead, Tony would never know.

As soon as they pulled up at their destination, he slid the truck into park and turned towards the kid. “Here you go, Pete.” He squeezed the back of his neck in greeting as Peter’s eyes fluttered open. “Finally here.”

The kid stretched tiredly before peeking out his window. His face scrunched up in confusion as he took in the open field flanked on almost all sides by a thick forest of pine trees. “And here is…?”

“Our campsite.”

“We’re _camping?_ ” Peter’s whole body seemed to key-up with excitement, sleepiness forgotten. “Really? I thought you hated camping.”

“I also thought I hated kids.” He reached out and ruffled up Peter’s curls. The damn kid’s enthusiasm was infectious. “But look where I am now, all sappy and gross with you. People change, Spider-baby.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You do hate kids, Dad. You just don’t hate me. I’m pretty sure I’m an exception, not a rule.”

“Oh, yeah? And what makes you so different?”

The kid grinned. “Cause I’m _special._ ”

God, he was such a sucker for those dimples. “That you are, buddy. Very special.”

_More special than I think you’ll ever know._

He cleared his throat and undid his seatbelt “Now get out. We’ve got a tent to setup before sundown, and then I’ve got a bunch of pillows and blankets so we can do that sappy stargazing thing you found online.”

Peter laughed, soft and gentle and _exactly_ the way Tony had wanted him to. “You bought a pickup truck because I mentioned to you, once, in passing, that stargazing in the back of one looked fun?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not.” Peter pushed open his door. “It’s just… extra.”

“Just staying,” he winked, “on brand.”

Peter groaned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.”

\--

It took them a lot longer than Tony would ever admit to put up their tent.

But Peter thought their ineptitude was hilarious, so he was paid for the frustration in the sound of his kid’s laugh.

A totally worthwhile trade, really.

By the time they had finished, the sun had set and the stars were starting to peer down at them. Tony threw the pillows and blankets around the bed of the truck haphazardly while Peter grabbed a few sandwiches and sodas for dinner.

They ate in silence, following their usual routine of Peter watching the stars and Tony watching Peter. The kid had wrapped himself up in one of the softest blankets and pressed himself between the wall of the truck’s bed and Tony’s side. He looked secure, comfortable, balanced, and Tony knew he’d made a good choice in taking him away from the city.

“See anything good up there, kiddo?”

Besides the basics he’d already known, Tony had stayed purposefully oblivious when it came to constellations. It went against his nature, really, to not go after a topic until he was the leading expert, but it was worth it to see the excitement in Peter’s eyes when he got to teach him something.

“See that one?” Peter pointed at a string of stars above their heads. “That’s Scorpius.”

“It looks like a fish hook.”

“It’s a _scorpion_ , Dad.”

“Well they should’ve just called it that, then.”

Peter laughed, sounding a little hesitant. After a moment, he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and shuffled more comfortably into Tony’s side. When he spoke again, his voice was suppressed, unsure. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you yesterday. At the Compound.”

_Oh Peter. Not everything is your fault._ “You didn’t embarrass me, buddy.” He took a breath. “You’re allowed to stick close, after everything. Anyone who says otherwise is out of line.”

“Really?”

“Of course, kiddo.” He tightened his grip around the kid and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight any sooner than I have to. My priority is you, okay? Everything else comes after.”

“Everything?”

“ _Everything._ ”

They were silent for a while. Peter’s breaths were even and steady. Relaxed. Tony reveled in it.

“Hey, Dad?”

He wondered if he would ever get over the brief spike in his heartrate whenever Peter called him Dad. He hoped not. “Yeah, buddy?”

“Thank you.”

Something told him that the kid was thanking him for more than just the camping trip. He pulled him closer and tangled his fingers in his curls. _Breathing. Alive._ “You’re welcome, Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t @ me for the Taylor Swift reference, it’s a shoutout to my dad for accepting my music taste with grace.  
> Next chapter actually kicks off the plot. There was some stuff I wanted to establish here, as well as give our favorite duo a fluffy, completely substance-less day before shit really starts to hit the fan. Sorry if it’s a little lackluster, especially after the wait.


	3. Can't Breathe Whenever You're Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “One of the first lessons you learn from me: manners get you nowhere. Use your fists instead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for any typos! I did my best when I edited this, but I've been doing it around classwork so it may not be perfect.

Monday rolled around far too quickly for Peter’s liking. Before he knew it, his birthday weekend was over, and he was following Tony through the Compound’s main entrance, the sticky late summer heat clinging to his skin.

Natasha was waiting for them, wearing black workout gear and her trademark smirk.

It occurred to him that she always managed to look the same no matter what she was wearing, like her general aura was a default, something preset in her coding. Peter wondered if she ever deviated from the same mood, the same posture, the same painstakingly developed persona.

“Good morning, Peter.” Natasha looked at him expectantly, shifting her weight. “Are you ready?”

He glanced up at Tony, seeking the comfort of his permission despite recognizing the question as less of a request and more of a formality. “Uh, y-yeah. I mean, yes. Yes ma’am.”

She laughed. There was something bitter in it. “You can call me Nat.”

“Oh.”

_Eloquent, Peter._

There was a moment where all she did was study him. He struggled to push aside memories of Ross doing the same, cruel gray eyes shifting through him like a sieve. Looking for a chink in his armor, a soft spot to poke.

The visual siege ended all at once. The look on her face told Peter that she’d seen everything she needed, and the thought made a shiver shudder down his spine.

She unlatched her eyes from his face and jerked her head towards the training room. Sharp, quick, efficient.

“Let’s get going.”

She moved off. Peter took two steps after her on instinct before flailing his hand behind him, a silent request for Tony’s reassurance. Natasha noticed, and shook her head.

“No.” Peter’s heart jumped. “Your dad stays behind. I think Steve wanted to talk to him, actually.”

He backtracked, skittering away from her until he slammed into Tony’s chest. “I-I don’t-”

Not even a flicker of visible sympathy threatened Natasha’s passivity. In fact, she didn’t even acknowledge his obvious panic. She just looked at him with chilled expectation. “Come along, little spider. We’ve got work to do.”

He spun around and clutched desperately for Tony’s wrists, hands buzzing with static and eyes burning with tears. He felt cornered, out of options. The helplessness wrapped around his collarbone like a scarf made of steel. “Dad, don’t-I can’t-”

Tony made eye contact with Natasha over his shoulder, and he sighed with an air of defeat. Peter felt the breath reverberate through his lungs as vividly as if he’d taken it himself.

“Go on with her, kiddo. I’ll… I’ll see you after, okay? It won’t be long.”

Something bitter stung in his throat. Tony was his constant, his safety net. He couldn’t navigate without him. He couldn’t _function_ without him. “I _can’t_.”

“You can, kid.” A harsh swallow and a twitch of his jaw. So subtle than anyone other than Peter might not have noticed it. _He doesn’t like this, either._ “We did it just a couple days ago, remember?”

“And I _hated_ it.” Even through his panic, the venom in his words startled him. “Y-You said that I could have you if I needed you. You _said_.”

He felt childish, and he despised it. Despised how ridiculous his fear made him feel. Despised how hollow it felt in his chest. Despised how it made him feel lesser, how it made him feel _weaker_ , than other people.

But he’d learned the hard way that despising something didn’t make it go away.

“I know I did.” Peter could the see the whirlpool of regret that was swallowing Tony whole. They were drowning together, oceans apart. “And I meant it, okay? It’s just… I need to check in with Steve, and you promised to work with Nat. I’ll only be a floor above you. If you need _anything_ , I can be right there within a minute.” He gave his wrist a squeeze. “And you know I’ll come.”

Defeat had become his insistent companion since the Raft, and it swept away his anger with a brush of its hands. He hung his head, a sad sort of acceptance staining his words. “Y-Yeah.”

Tony stepped back with a twinge of hesitancy, hands still partially extended in front of him. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

Peter swiped angrily at his wet eyes. Fuck, why couldn’t he hold himself together? Tony was just going a floor away and he was nearly in tears. _Pathetic._ “O-Okay.”

He stepped back into the elevator, shooting the teenager a half-hearted thumbs up. “You’re gonna do great.”

Peter offered him a shaky smile, holding it until the doors slid shut with a mechanical whir.

Natasha gave him all of two seconds to contemplate how desperately alone and _empty_ he felt before she snatched the back of his shirt and hauled him away.

“Tony let me analyze some footage of your fighting style.” She didn’t relinquish her hold as she pulled him through the double doors of the massive training room. If anything, she only tightened her grip. “You’re slow, hesitant. You pull your punches.”

Peter recoiled a little, panic dwarfed by a surge of indignance. “I’m too strong. I _have_ to pull my punches.”

“And yet you don’t do it with any kind of tactical precision.” She shoved him forward, hard. He staggered, then spun to face her as she began to circle him. “You should control your strength, not the other way around.” A purposeful pause. “You should control your emotions, too, for that matter.”

The snark came before he could really think about it. “Sorry, Master Yoda.”

She didn’t rise to the bait. In fact, she acted like he hadn’t even spoken. She stopped her circle and stared at him head-on.

“I was the one who helped F.R.I.D.A.Y. edit the footage from the Raft to protect your identity. I know that Ross tortured you. I’ve seen the tapes.” She paused, watching the heaviness settle over the room like a thick layer of dust. “I’ve seen _all_ the tapes.”

Peter’s joints locked, blood frozen. All he could do was stare as she spoke, quiet and smooth. _She’s seen. She knows. She’sseenitandsheknows._

She knows that he broke, and she knows what happened when he did.

“I know what Ross did. I know what he said.” She cocked her head, voice slipping into a tone Peter couldn’t recognize. “I know that Tony saved you.”

Every word felt ungainly on his tongue. “Please.”

He didn’t know what he was begging for.

 _That’s a nice change,_ his thoughts whispered, _you knew what you were begging for then, didn’t you? You knew exactly what you wanted._

“Today,” she stepped closer, sliding into a fight stance without ever shifting expression, “I’m going to teach you how to save yourself.”

The first kick was enough to jolt his traitorous thoughts away.

The bruise was worth the quiet.

\--

If Tony said he was comfortable with leaving Peter alone with Natasha, he’d be lying.

Then again, if he said he was comfortable with leaving Peter _at all_ he’d also be lying, so it didn’t really have anything to do with the ex-assassin. It just had to do with, well, _everyone._

If it was up to him, the damn kid would spend the rest of his days in a bubble, right where Tony could see him, doing incredibly non-dangerous things and living the most ordinary, simple, _boring_ life that anyone could possibly live.

But, as usual, the world had other ideas.

Why did the world _always_ have other ideas?

Natasha’s face had brokered no argument, and he knew that talking to Steve meant talking about things that Peter couldn’t hear, so he’d left.

He’d left, and he’d despised it.

Despised the look on Peter’s face, wavering on the edge of a breakdown. Despised the way it made his entire stomach constrict. Despised the fact that they both felt this way in the first place.

Despised Ross for what he’d done to them.

As he reached the door to Cap’s room, he shoved those feelings deep in a box.

He’d deal with them later.

Right now, he had a super soldier to grill and a kid to get back to.

Steve was sitting at his dinner table, chair pointing at the door as if he’d been waiting for the billionaire to arrive.

Tony spoke before he could, eager to end the encounter as quickly as possible.

“What’d you need, Capsicle?”

Steve watched him carefully for a moment, as if he was weighing his odds. “I wanted to give you a heads up.”

“About what?”

“Fury’s contact sent over an encrypted datafile this morning. Maria cracked it about an hour ago. We’ve got everything we need.” He shifted his head minutely, jaw tight. “We’ll go in the day after tomorrow, maybe the day after that at the latest.”

He hated it. He hated it _so fucking much_. “I thought we’d have more time.”

“I’m sorry, Tony. I did too, but…” Steve sighed heavily, not finishing the thought. “I just wanted to let you know, so you can talk to Peter.”

He pulled out a chair and fell into it, a groan dying on his lips before it could take form. Instead, it was replaced by a weary sigh of defeat and a phrase laid heavy with a truth that he didn’t really want to acknowledge. “He’s not going to handle it.”

If Steve was surprised by his old friend opening up to him, he didn’t show it. “No, it… it doesn’t look like he will. At least, not well.”

“I don’t know how to fix this.” _I don’t know how to fix it for_ him _._ Sure, there was no one else on the team who could handle the weapon, but there was no one else in the _world_ who could handle Peter. “He’s not going to function, Steve. He won’t sleep, he won’t eat, I don’t even know if he’ll _survive._ ”

“Can Pepper stay with him?”

Tony nodded, all sharp edges and fraying patience. “It’ll be her and Happy. But, Steve, you don’t understand. He _sleeps_ with me. We’ve both learned how to shower in less than five minutes because he can’t be alone for any longer than that. Hell, I’m freaking out right now and he’s only a floor away.”

“It sounds like he’s not the only one who’s attached.”

Tony stared at him for a moment. _Why does nobody understand?_

He chose his next words very, very carefully. “What do you know about what happened on the Raft?”

The shift in Steve’s posture was so minute that anyone else might have missed it. Luckily, Tony was not just anyone else. “Not much.”

“They took him away from me, to torture him.” Somehow, the words didn’t catch in his throat, but that didn’t mean they didn’t taste like acid. “When they brought him back, he was…” _Breathe. Breathe. Breathe._ “He was in real bad shape, and Ross said he’d _outlived his usefulness_. Said he wanted him to die screaming.”

_Just the facts. Stick to the facts. This is a dissertation, a presentation of the evidence gathered. Don’t think about the walls, or the blood, or the screams._

Steve said nothing. He just watched him with eyes that were too old for his face.

“He was bleeding out, and I almost let him, Steve. I sat there and I-I thought about it. I could’ve just let it happen. Would’ve been painless, y’know? Could’ve just happened in my arms. Nothing like what Ross had planned.” He gripped his wrist, pain lancing through his arm. “But that’s… that’s not the point. The point is: that was the last time I let him out of my sight. They took him away, and they hurt him. He _screamed_ for me, Steve, and I didn’t even know. I-I never want to be far enough away that I can’t hear him scream for me ever, ever again. I made that promise to him, and I made it to myself, too.”

“He’ll have to leave eventually.” Steve’s voice was quiet. In these moments, it was hard to remember that he was a soldier. “And you will, too.”

A swallow, stiff like sun-dried burlap. “Like this mission.”

Steve bobbed his head in sympathetic agreement.  “Like this mission.”

Tony felt defeated. He knew what had to happen. He knew that this was the only outcome, the only course of action he could take. He forced down the suspicious lump in his throat and braced his hands against the arms of the chair in preparation to stand. “I should go to him.”

Steve held up a hand, stalling the movement. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Are Nat and Peter done sparring, yet?”

“No, Captain.”

“I’m not trying to tell you how to raise your kid,” Steve shifted, “but I’d let them finish.”

Tony paused, balancing his options on a set of metaphorical scales.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” He forced his voice into impassivity. “Is Peter distressed?”

“No, Boss.”

For some reason, that answer actually stung a little.

“Alright.” He stood, suddenly desperate to be alone. “Then I’ll, uh, I’ll wait for him in our wing. FRI, will you let him know where I am once he’s done?”

“Of course.”

He turned to leave, then paused. An image of Peter’s dimpled grin popped into his head.

 _Take a breath, let it out._ “Oh, and Steve?”

The solider tweaked an eyebrow up at him, looking surprised to be addressed again. “Yes, Tony?”

He didn’t allow himself any hesitation. _Like ripping off a Band-Aid_. “Thanks for the compass. Peter loves it.”

A smile, genuine and at ease. “My pleasure.”

\--

She knocked him down again.

“Get up!” Natasha snapped, already sliding back into her fight stance. There was no mercy, no hesitation. No pulled punches because he was a kid, because he was _damaged_. “Come on, Stark. _Now._ ”

He dragged himself to his feet, wincing as his burning muscles protested in a cacophony of ache and pull. But even as his body screamed, his mind silenced. There were no echoes of Ross or the Raft. Just adrenaline and strategy and the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

A glint in Natasha’s eye told him that she saw that, too.

“Good.” Somehow, that single syllable sounded surprisingly soft. “Again.”

She was swinging at his face before she’d finished the order.

He was getting clumsier, fatigue making his movements slow and delayed. She was dropping him faster and faster now, like an exponential curve of exhaustion and defeat. He could barely hold his own for half a minute before some part of his body would make harsh contact with the training mat.

Finally, after she drove his shoulder into the ground with enough force to make the joint crack on impact, he stayed down.

“Get up, Peter!” Nat drove her foot into his stomach. He just rolled over with a lethargic groan. “ _Get up_.”

“No,” a small, childish part of him wanted to whine for his dad, “I’m done.”

“I say when you’re done, Stark.” Another kick, this time to his ribs. “Do you think that the people out there, the people who want to _kill you_ , are going to give you a break because it’s your nap time?” She aimed her foot for his face, but he rolled away just before it could make contact. “The rest of the world isn’t like Tony. They’re not gonna baby you. They’re gonna beat you bloody if you let them.”

He gasped, wiping a hand over his upper lip. His hands were so sweaty that it just made his face feel even wetter. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care if you’re sorry.” She evaluated him again. This time, it didn’t feel cold or calculating. It felt sincere. It almost felt _fond_. “One of the first lessons you learn from me: manners get you nowhere. Use your fists instead.” A jab to his pelvis made him curl in with a gasp. “You’re dead on your feet? That’s fine. You fight anyway. You fight even if it hurts like hell, and you might have just a tiny chance of surviving out there. Now get up, little spider. Get up and knock me down.”

And somehow, he did. It felt like every strand of his DNA was reeling against it, and he was surprised he even managed to coordinate his lethargic muscles into movement, but he stood and brought a pair of bruised and bloodied fists up in front of his face.

Natasha smiled. There was genuine pride there. “Well done, Peter. Now block.”

He didn’t know how much longer they sparred for. The minutes began to blur together. His world become centered around _block, swing, duck, cover, swing, block, block, block._

He hit the ground hard. He wasn’t even sure how Natasha had gotten the drop on him. One minute, she’d been right in front of him. The next, she’d had his arm twisted unnaturally behind in back and was shoving him face first into the mat.

He let himself lay there for a minute, panting, before forcing his aching arms underneath him in an attempt to push himself to his feet.

“You’re done, little Stark.” Peter wasn’t sure he’d ever had a statement make him feel so blissful in his whole life. He flopped back onto the ground with a huff. “You did well, for a baby.”

He felt pride glow in his stomach at her words. Black Widow has just _complemented_ him. He’d sparred with Black Widow and she thought he didn’t completely suck.

Ned was gonna _flip_.

An outstretched palm emerged at the edge of his vision. “Want a hand?”

He let her haul him to his feet and steady him when he swayed. He felt a strange intimacy between them, now. Like she’d seen into him, and he’d caught an unintentional glimpse into her, too.

“You need to learn how to fight even when your gas tank is empty.” She said, raking her gaze from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. She didn’t even look like she’d broken a sweat. “You’ve got super strength, which may help you on the streets, but your endurance is weak and your technique is sloppy. You’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“I’ll do it.” He shot back, hiding a wince at the way he gasped around the words. Man, his lungs hurt. “I want to do it.”

“I know you do. I wouldn’t be offering to teach you if I didn’t think you did.”

“You’ll teach me?”

“Sure.” There was a flicker of emotion across her face. “Stark loves you, and we can’t afford him distracted. That means teaching our favorite team mascot to hold his own.” She shrugged. “Plus, you’re one of the good guys. Those kinds of people rare these days. I’d like to keep as many of them around me as I can, given the chance.”

For a second, Peter was speechless. That was as close to an admission of affection that Natasha gave.

The moment ended as quickly as it had come. “Tony said you’re staying overnight. Tomorrow, same place, 8:00 am sharp. Don’t be late.”

“Can Tony come?”

She stared at him. There was nothing probing about her gaze this time. This was a realization that didn’t involve deduction. Even Peter knew that.

“You don’t like being without him.”

It wasn’t a question, but Peter answered anyways. “No, not really.”

“That’s a weakness, you know. Something your opponent can exploit.”

Peter shrugged, face burning with shame. The longer he went without the distraction of sparring, the more Tony’s absence started to gnaw at his gut. Just thinking about it made his hands twitch. “Everyone has a weakness. Even the bad guys.”

Natasha laughed, harsh and tinged with something like sadness. “You really _are_ a baby.” She spun on her heels. “Sure, daddy can come. But don’t think that I’ll go easier on you because he’s there. And don’t think the _bad guys_ will, either.”

She sauntered away without another word.

\--

A growl curled through Tony’s chest when Peter came stumbling into their quarters.

“What the _hell_ did she do to you?”

“I’m _fine_ , Dad.” Despite the placating words, the kid tripped over his feet in his haste to seek physical reassurance. He tucked himself underneath his chin with a sigh. “I missed you.”

Tony forced a smile, tugging him into his arms and trying to quell the panic in his lungs. “I missed you too, Pete,” it was true. God, it was _so_ true, “but that’s not an answer.”

“You can’t always get what you want, y’know.”

“Did you just quote the Rolling Stones?”

Peter peeked up at him. “Oh, is that who sings that song?”

He stared down at the kid’s face for a second, trying to gauge whether or not he was joking. When he realized that he most definitely _wasn’t_ , he groaned. “I’ve failed you, buddy. I really have.”

Peter shot him a dopey grin, dimples out in full force. “No, you haven’t.”

“Well, that’s what _you_ say.” He touched the bruise arching over his cheekbone with a light finger. “Looks like it hurts.”

“Not a lot.”

“Hm.” His touch migrated down to the kid’s shoulder. “Aching?”

“A little.”

“C’mere.”

He tugged Peter onto the couch. The teenager flopped into his side, a mass of loose limbs and fussy curls. After a few beats of silence, broken only by Peter’s occasional appreciative breaths when his fingers worked through a particularly hard knot, Tony spoke again.

“How’d it go?”

“Do you promise not to get mad?”

 _He’s so goddamn young._ “I reserve my rights.”

Peter giggled, curling his legs onto Tony’s lap and twisting so he could rest his forehead on his shoulder without disrupting the massage. “It was good.” He hummed. “Would’ve been better with you.”

“Would it?”

“Duh.” He let his eyes drift shut. “Everything’s better with you.”

Tony grinned, missions and separation and Steve forgotten. “Even naps?”

“ _Especially_ naps.”

He kept rubbing at Peter’s shoulder until his head became a deadweight and his breaths settled. As soon as he was sure that he would sleep soundly, Tony settled him out across the couch and fetched a few icepacks from the freezer, tucking them carefully against the worst of the bruises and swelling. Once he’d finished, he pulled a throw blanket over the kid and brushed a gentle thumb over his temple in a wordless parting before slipping into the corridor.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” He had to remind himself that he didn’t have to whisper anymore, since their rooms were soundproofed. “Where’s Natasha?”

“Miss Romanoff is currently located in the communal kitchen.”

He strolled towards the elevator with a bounce in his step, pushing down the waver of discomfort that strengthened with every step away from his kid. _I’ll be back in a minute, buddy, I promise._ “Let me know if Peter starts to wake.”

“Of course.”

\--

“I saw that you beat the shit out of my kid this morning.”

A smile quirked the corners of Natasha’s mouth. Her eyes didn’t flicker away from the coffee pot. “I like him.”

For a second, Tony grappled with the statement. Natasha didn’t like _anyone_ and, even if she did, she never admitted it.

Snark, as usual, was his first line of defense. “And beating people up is how you show your affection?”

“If he fights like that, he’ll get himself killed. I’m helping keep your kid _alive,_ Stark.”

“He’s been fine before.”

“He’s been fine because he’s been fighting amateurs. But he’s one of us now, and you know what’s coming.” She offered him a mug. “He needs to fight smarter, learn to hold his own.”

“He’s already perfect.” He pushed her hand away. “And Peter is _not_ an Avenger,” _if I have a say in it, he never will be,_ “so he won’t have any part in that.”

“We’re going to need everyone we can get, Tony.”

“He’s a _child,_ Natasha.”

“That didn’t stop you in Berlin.

“It was against _Steve,_ and it was never even supposed to escalate to fighting. What’s coming… it’s… it’s _different._ He could die.”

“We all could.”

“But Peter… Peter doesn’t…” _Breathe._ “Peter needs to come home.”

“And I want him to, too. That’s why I’m ‘beating the shit out of him,’ as you call it. So he’ll learn. So he’ll be better. So he’ll _survive._ ” She touched his shoulder, fingertips light against the fabric of his blazer. “So that you walk away from this with a kid, not a casket.”

His gaze dropped down to his hands. They were shaking. He didn’t even try to hide it. What was the point? There was nothing to hide behind, anymore. His weak spot for Peter was too plain, to obvious.

“I can’t lose him.”

“Believe me,” there’s a tint of dryness to her tone, “we know.”

He dragged in a breath through his nose. “What am I supposed to do?”

_How can I protect him from something that’s stronger than I am? Something that could sweep me aside without a second thought?_

_How can I protect him from the inevitable?_

“You let us help you help him.” She squeezed his shoulder once before pulling away. “And hope with all you’ve got that it’s enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my defense, I needed Peter to fall asleep for plot this time. Not my fault that I decided to try to make it cute.  
> Shoutout to my childhood horseback riding instructor for the inspiration for Natasha’s lecture to Peter. Terri, wherever you are, you’re one hardass bitch for saying some of that shit to a 7-year-old.


End file.
